


You look like yourself but you're somebody else

by bubb



Category: Trolls (2016)
Genre: Chat Noir!Poppy, F/M, Human AU, Ladybug!Branch, Miraculous AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-07 06:22:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15213080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubb/pseuds/bubb
Summary: Parisian nights and starry skies, soft murmuring heard from high above. A spotted boy who stands for healing and hope and a mischievous kitten with a justly harness on destruction.Being unmasked is tough. And merging two selves is tougher.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Artsy_LaVerne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artsy_LaVerne/gifts).



The fall of dusk had cloaked over Paris, lurking darkness kept at bay by the motherly glow of street lamp trails. A pair of teenagers followed the lights, rounding curves of a small town pathway.

Poppy had always been a girl who zipped from point A to point B but tonight was different, he noticed. She purposely restrained her hummingbird speed stride and instead meandered so she wouldn’t fall out of step with the boy beside her.

They had just seen a movie yet no opinions had been shared between them. In fact, not much talking had been done at all.

Branch supposed this could be mistaken for a date by passing strangers, although he highly doubted it. Mutual romantic interest just didn’t spark when both parties were such a stark contrast. How anyone could wrap their head around that one, was beyond him.

Poppy was a person who tipped the balance between simplicity and extravagance and nothing mirrored that quite so obviously than the way she presented herself.

Standard clothing of pastel blues and seagreens, nothing too loud but accented with neons of childlike jewelry. Eccentric looking but sweetly so. Unintimidating. Like the human embodiment of a Claire’s Accessories store.

She was chatty to some extent. Friendly. Maybe a little socially awkward but blissfully unaware of it. Her childhood had been relatively lonely if his facts were right, so her immaturity and eagerness to make friends was understandable.

A shocking shade of pink hair was the one thing that subtly hinted at a hidden touch of wild. But even then, it was brushed back tidily and held together with purple hair scrunchies and flowery hairbands.

Poppy was a spoonful of sugar.

And man, if that was the case, Branch was definitely the medicine. Good intentions but ultimately bitter. Medicine wasn’t especially popular with people either.

Because you see, while they were both quite ordinary, hers was the bright, lively kind of ordinary. The type that drew in others. It gave her that reason for belonging, kept her from drifting too far.

But Branch, well he went in the opposite direction. He was a grouch. A greying goop of a boy with lousy clothes, a cynical outlook and a grimy heart.

The attitude that had manifested beyond his control was slowly but surely fading him into backgrounds, leeching the life from his face and the colour from inside and all around.

Sometimes, when you try too hard not to be anything spectacular, your normality descends and you spiral into somebody who’s just downright awful. He was that kind of ordinary.

But he was working on it. And by God, Poppy was too, wasn’t she?

Branch knew why he was here. Her wish to befriend him was completely transparent but after months (nearly a year) of grunting out rejection after rejection, he was attempting to turn over a new leaf. Accept her invitations, be civil, maybe even become her friend without the mask.

Extra emphasis on “Attempting.” Because even when holding back on the defensive snark he had perfected, Branch was still...socially challenged.

They had walked in uncomfortable silence, the girl luckily oblivious to the smashing cymbals and stereo blasting vocals of “THIS IS NOT GOING WELL, THIS IS NOT GOING WELL, THIS IS NOT GOING WELL-” that had been cracking holes in Branch’s skull.

It was her that spoke up.

“Stars really are the underrated superheroes, aren’t they?” She thought aloud, head tipped upwards to the navy void of evening sky.

A star twinkled gleefully, as if acknowledging her comment. A star. Singular. But if her tender smile was anything to go by, that one little hero was more than enough for Poppy.

He turned to her curiously, then shot a quick glance to the sky.

“The...stars?” His head cocked as he gazed above.

“Well, yeah!” She seemed delighted to have gotten a reply out of him as she beamed, immediately extrapolating. “We all know that Chatte Noir and Ladybug are our heroes. They protect us. They protect the city. But who protects them?”

Branch’s brow creased at that, Poppy’s kind-hearted father coming to mind. “Th-...they have families, don’t they?”

“Oh, of course they do!” She said at once, before catching herself and backtracking.

“I-I mean...they probably do! Not that we know anything about ‘em but uh...y’know they seem like really strong, good people. People who wanna love...a-and protect. That’s gotta be the work of their parents. They were raised right!”

“So...so what’s your point?”

Poppy stopped abruptly.

With that nagging little reminder to be polite, Branch stopped too.

She pointed high above to where the single wishing star winked. For a moment, his gaze lingered on the purple friendship bracelet hanging off her thin wrist.

“That star up there? Who’s to say it’s not the one thing keeping superheroes from getting freaked out? You know they’re out every night, patrolling the city and all that stuff. It gets dark, you know? Maybe it’s even a little scary for ‘em. But if there’s a starry sky to brighten things up a little-...”

“You actually think Ladybug and Chatte Noir are afraid of the dark?!” Branch blurted out before he could stop himself, a mix of humor and sheer incredulity pulling at his lip corners.

“I’m just sayin’!” She exclaimed, her foot doing a petulant little stomp.

Branch had to snort at that, his hands balling smugly into his jacket pockets.

Though she had spent so long trying to create a foundation for a friendship, the fact of the matter was that he and Poppy just weren’t very close.

At least, as civilians.

He knew she had a tendency to joke and over-dramatize and be quite sporadic in general but without their masks, she saw him as someone else entirely. She was both intimidated and intrigued which often confined a lot of her personality when she tried to interact with him.

But she was slowly easing up a little. Hell, maybe they both were.

“It’s not like I know for certain, it was just a thought, geez!” Poppy had gone off, ranting and raving.

“And hey, hey, how would you know?! They’re people too, Branch! Everybody’s got weird phobias. Is it so out of the ordinary to think that maybe, just maybe, Chatte Noir is afraid of the dark?!”

That did it, that got a quick burst of a laugh out of him. “Chatte Noir? The Self Proclaimed Mistress of the Night?”

Poppy inhaled deeply to retort, shoulders drawn back before something struck her. She deflated slightly, cheeks tingeing. “Wow, okay, it sounds a lot less cool when somebody else says it,” She mumbled.

Branch laughed again, for longer this time and as the seconds fell away, he realized he may not have the control to stop.

He felt something stir within his inside pocket and even through tears of hilarity, he accepted that he was going to get a scolding from Tikki for waking her up.

Poppy scoffed repeatedly at his borderline hysteria, raising her voice to be heard over the wheezy cackles. “Yeah, well, it really isn’t all that weird to consider! We all know superheroes gotta be scared of something. Remember Pigeon Man?”

His laughter stopped dead.

“No.”

“What?” Now Poppy was the surprised one, folding her arms disbelievingly as she loomed into his space.

Branch stepped back automatically.

“You really don’t remember the Headlines they made? The Tabloids?”

She cleared her throat, imitating the local News Presenter as she announced. “What seemed to be a relatively harmless akuma villain has become Ladybug’s biggest challenge yet! All because the city’s luckiest hero appears to have a crippling fear of-”

“Birds.” Said Branch curtly, humor drained his tone. “Birds, yes, I know. I’m familiar with the Pigeon Man incident.”

“Oh, good,” Poppy sighed, relieved.

They began to walk again.

“I wondered how anyone could possibly forget something like that.”

“I haven’t.”

“I mean, really-”

“I get it.”

“Birds! Can you believe that?”

“Okay, so, in Ladybug’s defense-!” He spurted suddenly, voice cracking in his haste to spit it out.

Poppy’s eyes popped, looking startled. She skimmed his expression, undoubtedly puzzled by his face that had no business being as ribbon red as it was.

“-Ornithophobia isn’t nearly as weird as you’re making it out to be! And Bug still saved the day, didn’t he? Being slightly freaked out-”

“He screamed several times.”

“-Slightly freaked out does not invalidate the hero work he does.”

For a single silent, agonizing moment, she stared at him, blinking slow as if processing.

Alright, trying to be a casual friend to Poppy did not appear to be working in his favour. This is not how he’d like to be portrayed. And yet...

“Well, duh,” Her mouth quirked into a lopsided smile. “That’s exactly what I was saying. Superheroes get scared just like the rest of us. Sure, Bug’s afraid of something really dumb (Branch’s eyebrow twitched.) but...but...”

Poppy’s train of thought faded on her tongue. Apparently, saying “But-...” had triggered something. From her airy way of speaking not seconds prior, she probably had a throwaway line at the top of her head. But now. Now she was actually thinking about it.

With no voice to distract him, Branch was back to being increasingly aware of the sounds of their footsteps. They were walking in sync.

He studied her face, which was set straight ahead, the bump of a tongue rolling around her cheek. Words were stewing.

“But he’s still my hero.” She said so softly, he may not have even heard her. Good thing he was paying far more attention to her than was expected of him on a leisurely stroll home.

“Or-....well,...he’s everyones’ hero, I guess. And of course, there’s a reason for that. I mean, what’s not to adore about the guy, right?”

Poppy turned to face him with a look that was almost desperate. As if Ladybug being so admirable was actually beginning to distress her. She looked happy, for sure. Although her smile was a little frenzied. And her eyes a little lost.

“He’s selfless and he’s brave and he’s funny and...he never ever doubts himself. He saves Paris, sure but it’s like...he supports the people, y’know? He doesn’t see it as just one big city, he sees a whole big bunch of individuals who are in danger and scared and....and he does everything in his power to help ‘em. He’s-he’s....he’s just so good!”

Her even voice squeaked excitedly at that last sentence, high enough to get a wince out of Branch.

He didn’t say anything, watching the way her cheeks glowed, the way her expression shifted in this uncertain happy sadness, the way her hands clasped together so tight, her knuckles whitened. As if she was determined to hold onto something, whatever it was.

It was little gestures like these that told him she wanted to gush more vigorously if she wasn’t so acutely aware of her company.

He could sense her holding a lot in. She was a ticking affection bomb, full of intense praise for Ladybug.

And that just broke his goddamn heart.

Branch heard this kind of thing a lot. From classmates, from neighbours, teachers, newspapers, television broadcasts, from all of Paris. Ladybug was just so wonderful, wasn’t he?

More often than not, his response was a wrinkle of the nose. “He’s alright,” Branch would usually shrug, only to be playfully shoved and teased “Somebody’s jealous.”

And in fairness, they were probably right.

He would love to be the hero the city worshipped, he really would. Instead he was just a puppet to some age-old jewels. Branch channeled Ladybug. That was it.

He remained indifferent when other people would fawn over the polka dotted boy of chance. But when Poppy did it?

Rising tides of guilt and slithering lies all thrived in his stomach. Branch really had this sweet, heroic girl idolizing a shadow, didn’t he?

“Branch?”

Oh.

The current time, place and company suddenly spilled back into his peripheral. From the look on her face, Poppy had made a couple tries to pull him back to earth.

“Are you okay?”

He opened his mouth, grasping at the first conversation topic to bless his foggy head. Said topic being the girl before him, but with a feline-like disposition and jet black leather staining her cheekbones.

“So, Chatte Noir, huh?” He piped up in an attempt at a casual air. As if he hadn’t just been zoned out and gawking at her for the last few minutes.

Either Poppy was letting him off the hook or she genuinely did not notice how forced his subject change was. He doubted the latter.

“Yeah?” She grinned, probably eager to discuss her own masked persona. “What about her?”

“You have a point. I’ll give you that. Just like Ladybug and the bird thing. Not all that weird for her to be scared of something, when you consider just how great she is.”

“Oh, definitely, Chatte Noir is awesome!” Poppy nodded, arms now swinging as she walked. “Her power is super cool and she’s....well, she’s cute, don’tcha think?”

“She’s just as much of a hero as Bug, that’s what she is.” Said Branch, making sure his voice retained every drop of sincerity. Making sure Poppy registered every word. “If not more.”

A stunned pause followed.

Partway through, he glanced at Poppy out of the corner of his eye. She wore a secret smile, abiding by a silence as this was the one thing she couldn’t comment on without risking a slip-up. But she appreciated that, he could tell.

Once her quiet joy had ebbed away, she looked to him with a prodding look. “But uh, I didn’t get an answer before. You do think she’s cute, right?”

Branch smirked at that, purposely looking onwards to where his apartment building was incoming just a few structures down. “Oh, hey, look! We’re coming up on my place.”

“Yeah, that’s great n’ all but uh-...whatcha think? I personally think she’s real cute...”

“Aw, shit,” He scratched at his chin, trying to hide the amusement that was coming off him in waves. “Still got a ton of homework to do,”

“Braaanch!” Poppy whined impatiently. Her little hands were thudding against his arm. “Chatte Noir? Verdict? Attraction-wise?” She demanded.

He let this drag out as they continued on, smugly soaking in her fidgety agony, only to finally pacify her as they stopped outside the entrance.

“Huh, what?” Branch acted as if this was the first time he was hearing this question, much to Poppy’s thinly veiled irritation. Chatte was bursting through her civilian identity more and more by the second.

“Well, that’s obvious.” He shrugged. “We all think she’s cute, Poppy, she’s Chatte Noir. One of the cutest girls in Paris, by far.”

Poppy’s insistent tapping stopped. She blinked at him, hand rested on his shoulder gradually slipping down his arm.

For a moment, she was still, leading him to wonder if he had flustered her before she snapped back into action, alighting a broad smile and pumping a fist triumphantly. “Knew it!”

And that, Branch decided, was good enough.

If he turned and left right now, Poppy’s lingering memory of him would be at least be a smooth one.

He moved to do just that, wordlessly nodding her goodbye as he took a step towards the door, ready to congratulate himself on a job well done once he was out of her sight.

But nothing could ever go well for him without something to cringe over, could it?

“H-hey!” Poppy called, voice almost panicked that he was leaving so soon. She snatched at his sleeve and reeled him back, much to Branch’s bewilderment.

“What?!” He spat out, just as he caught a flicker of movement from above. He looked up, only for the window blinds to snap shut again. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. That was his window.

Gramma.

He slooooowly drew his head down, unwilling to look away just yet in the odd chance of catching her in the act.

Once his gaze fixed on Poppy again, he realized she was oblivious to Branch and the prying eyes. Instead she was yapping away, all while fishing around in her shoulder purse. He...hadn’t exactly caught the first half of her monologue.

“-and all throughout the movie I’m thinking to myself “Are we friends? I think we’re friends. But I dunno if he thinks that.” So we’ve been walking home and I’m tryna figure out how to bring it up and how to-...how to-...”

She withdrew what she had been looking for, now worrying a woven green bracelet between her fingers. It flicked over her thumb as she shrugged at him. “-how to give you this but I wasn’t sure if you would-”

“Is that for me?” Branch asked in soft surprise. He had barely registered what she was saying, eyes gravitating towards the handmade accessory a little more longingly than he cared to admit.

Also, he...he didn’t mean to actually ask her that. It was supposed to be in his head.

Poppy looked delighted that he had spoken up. It saved her the issue of talking herself into an awkward little hole.

“Yeah…” She said, a little breathlessly. She offered it to him, letting the gift dangle in the space between them. “Yeah, it is. Just a-....just another one of those bracelets that I make all my friends and I was wondering if you would wanna-”

He took it.

Maybe the action was too greedy. Or too desperate, he didn’t know. But he took it.

And only amidst said action of accepting the bracelet, did he catch himself.

This was the part where Branch thanked her. This was the part where Branch smiled. This was the part where Branch tied the bracelet around his wrist.

But Branch had frozen up and did nothing of the sort.

Suddenly in that moment, being given a friendship bracelet had become unfathomably embarrassing. Being nice was embarrassing. Talking to Poppy was embarrassing. Everything was embarrassing.

But being himself was embarrassing too. So, he couldn’t revert back to that either. He was cornered here.

She was watching him expectantly, hands folded in that relaxed, not embarrassing way that everyone but him had mastered for some godforsaken reason. Fucking Hell, how does everybody else just know what to do with their hands?

“Are you gonna wear it?” Poppy asked hopefully, wearing a cautious little smile.

He didn’t even want to know what his face looked like right now but he could tell she was making note. It burned like Hell though, he knew that for damn sure.

To say “No.” would upset her. Branch didn’t want that.

To say “Yes.” would imply that he was, in fact, soft. Branch didn’t want that.

And so, in one of Branch’s finest hours, his arm sharply jutted inward, shoving the bracelet into his pocket, never breaking his dead-eyed stare from Poppy’s face. He watched the way her smile drooped, the image involuntarily imprinting itself into his subconscious.

His foot scuffed hesitantly, as if his legs were stuck. With sudden will, he jerked back to life and turned and walked away, almost robotic in motion.

So, in other words, he fled. Retreated from the situation completely. In through the door, into the lobby and within minutes, lunging head first into Rosiepuff’s radius of third degree interrogation.

Branch was all boiling skin and uncomfortable, squirming insides for the rest of the night.

And Poppy?

She was left alone. Stood under street lamps and stars.

He couldn’t even imagine what she thought of him right now.


	2. Chapter 2

Night Patrol could be one of two things.

Sometimes, it was a quiet, pondering time. A dreamlike stretch of hours where Ladybug would swing aimlessly across buildings with his head in the clouds. Well, as close to the clouds as the peak of the Eiffel Tower could reach..

Those were the nights when the two heroes split the city, each taking up their own half to get the job done faster.

Or it was the latter option. In which simply being a teenager interfered with their professionalism. Those nights that they took on the town together.

There was no real rhyme nor reason to it. Logically speaking, it didn’t benefit patrol in the slightest and all it really accomplished was a longer night because they had a tendency to distract eachother. And flirt. Constantly.

And maybe that’s why they did it. Got a problem with that?

Although, it’s not like those nights were....entirely pointless.

Longer hours led to longer conversations which branched out into all kinds of things. And for the most part, it was all banter and giggles but sometimes (just sometimes), their words got reflective. Deep in a sleepover kind of way. And sometimes it got sad.

But Ladybug and Chatte Noir had made a promise, you see. No matter what secrets they spilled or insecurities they revealed, nothing said or done on Night Patrol would ever be brought up again. Consequence free.

And in all three years of miraculous holding, neither of them had ever broken that promise.

So, about tonight....well, he didn’t know what tonight would be. For the first time in months, he didn’t message Chatte to ask. And feeding into his anxiety about this whole mess, he noted that she made no effort to inquire herself.

Bug was perched on a rooftop, slouched over the ledge with his legs dangling freely. It wasn’t where their route usually began, nor where it ended. He had specifically gone out of his way to throw Chatte off his trail.

She would probably just assume it to be another split night and handle her job accordingly. It was for the best. Maybe the two needed some time apart after all that went down not twenty-four hours ago.

Or would that just make things worse? Give her some time to think about it? Have her realize he may have fucked her over?

A heavy sigh escaped as he rubbed his forehead, cursing himself for overthinking to the point of burning a headache into his brain.

He set his hands behind him and drew his spine back, blinking up at the stars.

It was funny. Even at a time like this, where he was nursing the mental-breakdown equivalent of a hangover, whenever he saw the stars, he thought of that moment they had once. Almost a year ago, come to think of it.

An insignificant evening, their chatter butter-knife dull and circumstances unextraordinary. But the kind of memories that stick are often the unexpected ones.

The longer he stared above, the clearer he recounted her thoughtful voice. Words directed not even at him, just thrown out into the open air. Stars really are superheroes.

Without realizing he was doing it at first, Bug’s fingers had begun to wring his wrist, recollections of the mortifying bracelet incident pouring into mind.

He wore it. Every single day. Not that Poppy would know.

That being said, she was doing her damned best to find out. Branch had caught her stealing glances during class several times, eyes always darting to his sleeve paws with the intention of seeing even a flash of green.

But Branch had worn a hoodie/jacket to school every day since that night. And being a notoriously short limbed boy, sleeves often slid far past his wrists.

It had become something of an unspoken game. And Branch was too competitive to let her win. She would never see. Not in this lifetime.

Suddenly too overstimulated to sit still, Bug swung his legs over the ledge and stood, striding across the roof’s surface. He still found himself looking to the sky, now propping his hands to his hips and resting his upper weight on his elbows.

After a moment of just standing there, head drawn up, he tucked his foot behind him and stepped back. And then a sidestep. And then another sidestep.

And within seconds, he was moving in circles, rotating idly and lost inside his own head.

It was the kind of thing Chatte Noir did sometimes in some of her more spacey moments.

But not Ladybug. Never Ladybug. Ladybug had never taken a step without a purpose in his life.

Branch had. Hell, Branch made at least twelve mistakes a minutes. But with the miraculous and the mask came the person Ladybug was. He felt like he had his entire course of life plotted out. Nothing was an uncertainty anymore.

Though things were different now. Drastically different since last night.

Here he was, Ladybug, Hero of Paris, Symbol of Good Fortune. Spinning, practically waltzing alone around a rooftop, counting the stars like he was just a kid.

Well. He was just a kid. If only Paris could see him now...

He had always been a bit of an enigma age-wise.

Ladybug was bold and authoritative, emitting bursts of confidence with every stance, every action and word, every subtle twitch of his features. He spoke with a voice that had been giving orders his whole life. Hundreds of former Miraculous holders were contained in that voice.

But that disposition still melted away in his lighter moments. Youthful looking smirks and chuckles often set off buzzes of suspicion. Sometimes his quips were too silly. Sometimes it looked almost too natural when he was comforting a teenage akuma victim, lacking in that distinct vibe of addressing a child. As if the two of them were just the same.

Strangely enough, his height was never taken into consideration. He had never heard a comment about Ladybug being short. Ever. (Meanwhile, Branch got called a runt at least five times a day.)

Maybe people just...didn’t notice?

Maybe with all his grit and guts, he came across as bigger than he was.

Or maybe things like height were just insignificant when you were a hero.

He had a sneaking suspicion that all his remaining growth spurts would be underwhelming. At least, that’s what his status as Ladybug told him.

After reading up on all Miraculous holders that came before him (and you best believe Branch did not take research lightly.) he found a small stature to be a recurring theme in past Ladybugs.

Honestly, Bug wouldn’t be surprised if this was some thousand year old inside joke. Insect hero just gotta be tiny, don’t they? Hilarious.

At the very least, it was utilized as opposed to disrespected. Miraculous magic circulates a lot easier through a small body, equating to an entity of compact power. An inspiration to shorties everywhere.

There were theories going around that both Chatte and Bug had a Peter Pan-esque thing going on. Eternally young, huh? Didn’t sound half-bad, he had to admit. He was already greying and wrinkling too fast for his liking.

However, that was solely a Branch problem. Another lucky little attribute that came with the miraculous.

Scarlet latex didn’t just cling to his form and aid anonymity. It rejuvenated aching joints, soothed knicks and bruises. Seeped skin-deep too. Healing. Both physically and emotionally.

It was difficult to be cynical when a suit of concentrated luck and hope infused itself with your body and soul. He couldn’t feel anything but young.

Definitely a more attractive image than Branch had been accustomed to perceiving. Although it did rightfully scare the shit out of him when he saw Bug’s reflection for the first time.

Dark hair with a noticeable shine, faces that abided by his will. A scowl that was threatening and a smile that was kind. Branch had never accomplished either expression correctly before.

Searing red, spotted with black. Sharp. Striking. Unafraid to capture gazes.

His eyes, once tired, murky puddles, now alive with gleam. Brimming like liquidized sapphire. Too goddamn bright for him to even accept at first.

It was still Branch though, that was the strange part. He could still see himself if he squinted. But at the same time, he felt like he had been reconstructed entirely. God help him, did that make....any sense at all?

Magic was weird.

Bug tilted his head in thought, bringing curled fingers up to his line of vision. He examined his dotted hand, blacks and reds glistening under a silvery moon. No uneven fingernails or knobbly knuckles. Just a taster of everything the miraculous concealed but wouldn’t let him forget.

Maybe it wasn’t the magic. Maybe it was just his overthinking.

That’s what made it weird.

Suddenly, a feeling.

It was neither a spike of foreboding nor a pool of warmth. It was more like a back-of-the-head, primal instinct. An ancient bond that had been ever so gradually imprinting on her as their partnership grew closer. When Chatte Noir was nearby, Ladybug would know.

He noticed the connection had strengthened significantly since last night. He would take that as a good sign.

She lurked like the Cat she was, footsteps silent as she paced a building high above him. Watching. Spying. Maybe teasing.

That girl never seemed to exist in a world that wasn’t a game. In theory, that should make her less threatening, right?

But no. It was that kind of nature that chilled every Villain in Paris to the bone.

Her demeanor never wavered between work and play, no matter the circumstances, always plastered with that rogue-ish grin. As if she never considered the situation dire enough to snap on her serious face. And that had every enemy quite blatantly unsettled.

Which only begged the question of what would reach her standards as a fair challenge. Did they even dare think about it?

Bug looked up to her, feeling every shift of weight from foot-to-foot as she fixed him with that smug look of a victorious Hide n’ Seek player.

Her leg extended over the edge, before she tipped her entire body forward in a free-fall.

Such an action would have given Branch a heart attack a few years ago but Ladybug didn’t flinch. Instead, he rolled his eyes.

Sure enough, Chatte landed delicately on her feet, just a stretch across from him.

“Evenin’, Buggy Boy~” She crooned, sweeping a strand of pink from her eye. It was tossed over her shoulder, the rest hung in a loose mane down her back, thick and unruly.

With an eager skip in her step, she trotted closer. In that suit of hers, fabricated from the essence of midnight and unknown shadows. It hugged her shape affectionately, spirits of destruction that encompassed her ring having been embraced and even befriended.

Kitty.

The usual affectionate greeting played on his tongue but Bug said nothing. It had come so easily before (and he knew for a fact she adored the nickname) but now it just felt...wrong.

And calling her Poppy was out of the question.

“Hi, Chatte.” He allowed curtly after a moment of indecisive buffering.

“Looking as handsome as ever! You really do glow under the moonlight.”

Don’t.

That...that stung.

By the time Chatte closed their distance, Bug had already broke into a brisk pace, walking straight past her. Even with his back to the girl, he could feel her quizzical gaze staring after him.

Flirting with Ladybug was fine. He had no problem with it. He was drop-dead irresistible, after all. (Not that he was bragging or anything but....c’mon, it was just facts.)

But now Poppy knew. And ever the paranoid person, he couldn’t shake off the notion that she was trying too hard. Continue playing up to their usual dynamic despite knowing the hero she idolized just wasn’t who she thought he was.

Branch really didn’t need that kind of pity.

He reached the ledge and hopped up, sparing a glance to the street below. “How did you find me anyway?” He asked, knowing damn well she was coming up behind him like a shadow.

“A kitty always finds her way home. And what’s more of a home to me than you?”

Bug didn’t answer.

They stood in silence, listening to the sounds of traffic.

“Oh, c’mon!” Chatte spurted suddenly.

He lurched, startled, losing his footing in an unsteady wobble until swiftly regaining himself before he fell forward. A drop from twenty storeys and the resulting faceplant really wouldn’t do wonders for his current image.

She didn’t seem to notice his brief uncomposure as she carried on, childishly irritated.

“That line was romantic and you know it! But whenever I say romantic stuff, you always beat me! You always throw it back with some of that smooth as heck poetry of yours.”

“Well-”

He was cut off by his own yelp, her arms shooting forward and grabbing him by the shoulders.

“I don’t know how to deal with winning this game, Bug!” She cried, giving him a jostle.

It took a second of terror before he could take this in. Her crazed eyes boring into him, pupils like a slant of ink, iris imbued with amber and sparking fire.

And then he realized just how funny it was. Both her bizarre outburst and his instantaneous surge of fight-or-flight fear. He breathed out a shaky life.

The intensity untightened from her expression in a moment of self actualization. Her own nervous chuckle joined his own as her hands slipped loose. As if reading minds, they both moved to sit, dropping down by eachothers’ side.

“Sorry,” shrugged Bug after Chatte’s weak giggle had faded away. “For letting you win tonight. I’m....out of it.”

She nodded, turning to look down at her swinging legs. “Guess you get a free pass. Enough happened to earn it.”

He stiffened.

“Do you-...do you wanna talk about it some more?” Chatte asked gently.

Hadn’t he talked enough?

True, it had all been done through a mess of overflowing tear dollops, continuously interrupted by snotty sniffs and hyperventilation. But that didn’t mean Branch didn’t blab her ear off anyway.

“No.”

“Hmm....okay, does that mean you just wanna go back to normal? Pretend none of this ever happened?”

Well. She was kind of missing the point of that, wasn’t she?

“No.”

Though he didn’t look up, he could still envision the confusion rearrange itself across her face.

“Then...then, uh…what do you wanna do?”

Bug wasn’t thinking it over like he probably should. All he really thought about, as he ground his palm into his eyelid, was that questions like these were exhausting.

What did he want to do?

First of all, this hadn’t been the plan to begin with. Everything had spiraled beyond his control.

But now that it happened, was he just supposed to process it all in seconds like a super computer and immediately throw together the next course of action? Just have all the answers right away? What kind of miracle worker did she take him for?

Well...Ladybug. A prior self-described miracle worker.

“No.” He finally mumbled. Like a disagreeable little kid in a psychiatrist’s office.

“Oh...okay then, good to know!” joked Chatte.

She sure was taking this well. Too well. Quite frankly, he was a little freaked out by how well she was taking it.

During times like this, Bug could perfectly understand why Bad Guys feared this girl. In her own silly, cute little way, Chatte Noir was absolutely terrifying.

“What about you?” He asked, literally out of nowhere.

She looked at him, quirking an eyebrow and giving a quick glance behind her and then back again.

_Yes, you. I am speaking to you. There is nobody else here, you complete nerd of a kitten_

“What about me?” Chatte was at a loss.

“What do you want to do? How do you want to handle this whole....identity breach?”

“Oh, wow, okay…hmm...” She straightened her back out, staring dead ahead in a brief second of concentration. “I...well, I don’t like to get too hung up on stuff....stuff like this. I mean....technically this kind of stuff has never happened before but...I don’t like thinking too much, y’know. It doesn’t bother me at all. Dwelling on it is the last thing I want to do.”

Her hands gestured as she spoke, wrists a twirl. “I think it would be best if we both try not to get too worked up. Not let it get in the way of our job. I don’t really feel we gotta talk about it. Unless you do. I-I’m sure I can adapt to this pretty easily even if it is a little...a little....”

She trailed away, gaze falling to her knees.

“A little what?”

Chatte lifted loose fists up to both sides of her head before popping out her clawed fingers, mouthing an explosion sound effect.

Bug nodded. “Ah.”

She mirrored the action.

“So,” She turned to him expectantly. Her mouth was drawn in a tight smile. Almost a grimace. “My own secret identity wasn’t as secret as I thought, huh?”

He shrugged, answer laid out in his expression. An obvious “I dunno what to tell ya” look.

Chatte huffed to herself, frustrated.

“What tipped you off?”

He hesitated a moment before swallowing an answer.

Bug scooched closer. In one swift motion, he slipped a hand against her nape and splashed her hair. It fell back instantly, as did the clear but worldless explanation.

“Oh my God...” She whispered.

Chatte slapped her forehead.

“Hey. I did suggest several times that you dye it a more common colour.”

“I thought you were just being boring.”

“I resent that.”

She bumped his shoulder lightly, twisting away at the strands that frizzed out over her shoulders.

“It looks a lot different as Chatte so....I thought it’d be okay. I usually keep it all brushed and tied up and pretty and then once I transform it just...” More explosion hands, her lips forming a quiet “Poof!”

Bug snorted. “Poof.”

“Poof.”

“Poof.”

She smirked. “Sorry. I never get to complain about the weird stuff my hair does in case somebody connect the dots. But I guess I’m all good with you now!”

“Guess so.”

“I should probably try to handle my identity a little better from now on, huh?”

“Maybe just slightly.”

That was all he said on the matter. Though internally, he had more.

Because in fairness to her, she had been doing a brilliant job at keeping her two selves separate. Though they shared the same mind, heart and morals, demeanour-wise Poppy and Chatte Noir were nothing alike. Even as notable public figures, it was impossible to draw connections.

Like comparing sugar to spice.

Branch had an advantage, however. He was the one person in Paris who saw them both on the regular. Up close, in person, with her barriers lowered.

Not through a shaking camera or a TV screen. Not in the touched up photos of glossy, magazine pages and certainly not through filters of hero worship.

He saw it in facial tics, in identical habits and finger dexterity, in the same teasing smirk that traveled from under the Eiffel Tower to the schoolyard porch.

Plus she had a tendency to blur the line in those late night rendezvous. He saw more Poppy behind a cat mask at One AM than in an entire week’s worth of classes.

But things like that were difficult to articulate. Especially when he would have to admit that he really did have the girl memorized.

Pinning the blame on hair was easier.

“You’re quiet tonight.” He heard her say.

“I am.”

Chatte hummed. “It’s funny. If I didn’t already know, I would say you remind me of Branch right now.”

Bug clenched his jaw. That pushed some kinds of buttons.

Without control of his mind or his tongue, he suddenly pressed her with “Is that Good funny or Bad funny?” tone borderline aggressive.

Her eyes widened, thrown off by whatever his sudden mood shift was. “Huh? Just regular funny, I guess. What’s your deal?”

He was enraged. But in a determinedly bottled up way. It sputtered out unpredictably through unknown punctures once something struck his system enough. Made him restless.

Bug stood, Chatte’s eyes on him, and he began to pace the ledge. Practically burning it up and down with anxious footprints.

“What’s wrong?” He saw her standing up out of the corner of his eye.

He said nothing, shaking off the hand that touched his shoulder as he tried to internally structure his words. Fuck, should he even say his words?

“I want you to-....” He began, winding around and meeting her face-to-face.

Luminous eyes blinked expectantly, eyebrows raising in a silent “Go on.”

Bug groaned, sharply turning away again and resuming his pace. He stretched a distance between them, stopping only once he reached a corner.

He heard Chatte take a few steps herself but she didn’t close the space, knowing when to stop before she got too near.

That connection really was getting strong.

Bug locked his gaze on an alleyway that hung below, half-mindedly transfixed on a swarm of moggies that lounged around, picking from the bins.

He inhaled. “I want you to be honest with me.”

Chatte didn’t miss a beat. “I’m an open book, Buggy. Shoot.”

“So, you had a crush on Ladybug. For a while. That’s...that’s a pretty obvious thing that happened.”

It took her a moment to respond this time.

“I don’t like when you talk about yourself in the third person like that.”

“Yeah, well, at the stage were at, it’s kind of necessary. Keeps us from getting confused.”

“True.” She said faintly. “But um. Yeah. About the Ladybug thing. What about it?”

“It’s a different now.”

A quick laugh. “Oh, yeah, duh! Totally different.”

His breath hitched in an attempt to continue. He managed it on the second try.

“You don’t see me as Ladybug anymore, do you?” He asked. Keeping his tone steady was a struggle.

“What? No!” She retorted immediately, sounding appalled. “I-I mean yes! No, I don’t not see you as...but yes, I-...Yes, you’re still Ladybug, I-...that’s what I mean!”

“Since it happened, since last night, I know I’m not...I’m not him anymore.” Bug didn’t know why her need to deny it was firing him up so much. But his voice was most definitely raising. “I know you feel different now! You don’t admire Ladybug like you did before because now you know he’s Branch!”

“Woah, woah, now you’re just...y-you’re getting carried away, it’s-it’s not like that! Like at all!” She stammered insistently. “It’s like...it’s-it’s the complete opposite! Now, I’m thinking of Branch as being-... or-I’m thinking of you as...or Branch or-or-or….forget it!”

The vexed crack in her voice caught Bug’s attention. He turned to face her. “You’re thinking of Branch as what?”

“I said forget it!” She snapped, cheeks flushed and arms crossed. “You were right. All these names and identities is way more confusing than I thought it would be.”

Her foot scuffed. “But...but it’s not a bad thing. Or a bad funny, whatever. What I’m trying to say is...it’s just a mask, isn’t it?”

“It’s not just a mask, it’s Ladybug!”

“You’re Ladybug! With or without the mask, it doesn’t matter!”

“That’s a fucking lie,” He hissed. “I asked you not to lie! I asked you to be honest with me!”

“I am being honest!” She shouted, fists balled at her sides and tail strung in the air. “It’s just not the truth you prepared yourself for so you go and explode! You’re like a fucking computer!”

“I know what I’m like, Chatte! I know what Ladybug’s like! It doesn’t take a genius to figure this out. I know you only like one side. That’s how this shit works, I-”

“How this shit works?!”

“Yes! Obviously! I think I’d know better than fucking anyone if-”

And then, much to his astonishment, her face fell, devastated. Her tail, high in the air, flopped pitifully to the ground.

The rest of his tirade got caught in his throat.

The fight in her eyes, momentarily dead, suddenly inflared with her second wind. “Well, what about me?”

“Wh...” Bug breathed. “What about you?”

Chatte’s lips pursed threateningly and, to his split second horror, she began marching towards him. He was almost tempted to jump backwards off the ledge. If he wasn’t paralyzed ,that is.

She popped his personal bubble, stabbing his chest with a forefingered claw.

“There’s two of me too!” She ground out, absolutely furious.

Well. If all else falls to shit tonight, Bug could at least say that he saw Chatte Noir angry. Though not gonna lie, he didn’t feel too great about it.

She exhaled lowly, almost a growl. “You think I don’t feel weird about my identities? That maybe one of them is better than the other? We both know you like Poppy a lot, Bug.”

Oh.

It felt like a rock had plummeted to his stomach.

Chatte glowered at him. “So, what, you’ve known this whole time but she’s still the one you kissed? Is she just your prefered version of me? Is that it?”

“No!” His heart was wracking against his ribcage.

“Should I pretend? Just be Poppy for you?”

“Chatte, that’s not-....you don’t really think that?”

She tore her eyes off him, turning on her heel and storming in the opposite direction.

They sure did pace a lot.

“Chatte Noir is like...everything that’s cool and badass of me....just scrap it completely. ‘Cause maybe....maybe Poppy is better.”

That was all she said. Or maybe all she could say. Chatte remained rooted where she stood, head ducked, legs rigid and arms folded tightly over her chest. Her shoulders were heaving.

Time passed in an icy silence.

He broke it. “So, you were lying.” He said gently.

Chatte snapped her head his way, a discharge of red hot fury hitting him square in the chest.

Bug remained calm. “You were lying about this not bothering you.”

She choked on something. Either her words or a sob. She nodded.

He began to approach her. Slow and steady. “It’s not true. What you’re thinking, it’s really not. I didn’t...Fuck, I-I shouldn’t have, in hindsight. I mean-....I had it in my head that it was something I could do. A-and I never thought about how you would feel if you knew. If you knew that I knew. But that should have been the first thing I thought about. But it wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head to himself, insides twisting as this all sunk in. “Fuck I’m-...I’m actually so sorry.”

He heard her sigh.

“I don’t have a favourite.” Bug said in complete stone faced seriousness. “I have never had a favourite. I was doing it to save my cowardly ass from consequences, nothing more than that. It never had anything to do with either of you being better than the other. How could it? I know both of you and you’re Poppy either way.”

Chatte rotated where she stood, wearing a look that grazed.

Bug stared back at her, wondering if his face really gave away how desperate he was. He just needed her to understand. “Can you try to believe me?”

She chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip. Finally, she tugged up a little smile. “I guess I can try...”

“That’s all I ask.”

“One condition though.”

She broke the remaining step between them. Her eyes gleamed, either with magic or tears, he couldn’t tell. “Try to believe me.”

“.....What?”

“Branch...Ladybug... both... whoever. Believe me.”

Her gaze burned, searing intensely into his own. It was asking him, begging him. Something squeezed his beating heart.

“Okay...” Bug whispered, surprised to find that any voice stronger than that was too much for his throat right now. “I believe you...”

And he did. That was the strange thing.

Her shoulders loosened (He hadn’t realized she had been so tense) and she tried to laugh but all she could muster was a shaking exhale.

Poppy was known for her hugs. That excitable yelp of hers and a sudden throw of eager arms. But tonight was a time of firsts. Including a different kind of hug.

She shuffled into him. Cautiously, as if stroking a frightened animal. Her arms raised slowly from her sides, making absolute sure he knew they were coming before they ever so carefully wrapped around him, Bug frantic eyed and pounding heart all the while.

The rest of Chatte came afterwards, her small body pressing into his own. He felt her entire frame relax as she settled, emitting a pleasant sigh. Or...a purr? Did she just purr?

He cleared his throat. His own arms itched to act so he attempted to put them...somewhere. His uncertainty of the proper procedure was glaringly obvious. Open palmed hands did eventually find an arrangement, one against her lower back and the other awkwardly patting her matted hair.

His chin propped itself on the top of her head, eyes flicking down in case he missed any questioning expressions. Was this fine? This was probably fine.

And then she said “Branch.”

A feather soft mumble but unshakably definite. As if she had decided the name herself and was christening him then and there.

He didn’t know why it made his throat ache, why it brought twitches to his lips. There was just something about being called by his name while under the spotted mask.

As if, without even touching him, she had stripped away all the paint and polish but still smiled with heartbreaking warmth to the tired, weatherbeaten self that remained.

To Branch.

He wanted to burst into tears.

“You’re shaking.” commented Chatte.

Bug said nothing, arms no longer stiff as they squeezed her tighter.

What came next was quite possibly the longest Chatte Noir had gone without talking. Although for once, she happily remained silent, snuggling into his embrace.

But then she started rubbing her cheek up and down his neck and Bug lost it entirely

She was just such a fucking cat!

Chatte pulled away, brimming with pride for getting such bubbling laughter out of him and took it all in, awaiting the last of it to wobble into the air.

“So,” She said once Bug had fallen silent, an afterglow of a smirk resting on his lips.

“Branch. It’s been you saving Paris on the regular this whole time? And looking good while doing it? Pretty heroic of you, I gotta say.”

A blush bled under his mask but Bug ignored it, quick to deadpan.

“Kitty, is it too much to ask that you keep it in your fancy, leather pants for ten goddamn minutes?”

Chatte winked.

“Christ.”

Biting on a smirk, she gestured to the side with a tip of her chin and the two hopped off the ledge. He was led by the hand to where the lighting was best, only then cottoning on to her concentrated stare. She was squinting, raking eyes up and down his expression.

“What?”

“You know,” She began musingly, reaching out towards him. Her right hand cupped the curve where his jaw met his chin, angling his face ever so slightly to the right. “I’m starting to see it.”

“I’m sorry, see what exactly?” He was almost too confused to be flustered by this. Almost.

“Branch.” Chatte answered simply, now with both hands working along his skin. Fingers found his cheeks, his forehead, tipping the shell of his outer ears, gliding across the bridge of his nose. She left traces of her touch everywhere. It tingled.

“I dunno how I didn’t notice it before. This is...this is Branch’s nose. This is obviously Branch’s nose.” She gave said nose a playful bop. “These are his eyebrows. These are his cute, pudgy cheeks. This is Branch....!”

“Nooooo...” He said in faux astonishment, only to receive a light thwack to his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, grinning to himself.

Chatte continued to explore, careful not to scrape his eyelids with her claws. She picked curiously at the shape of spotted red bonded to his upper portrait.

“What are you doing?” Bug’s brow furrowed, eyes still closed.

“This really doesn’t come off, huh?”

“Not without de-transforming. I don’t see why I’d need it off otherwise.”

“Because your pretty kitty wants it off.”

His eyes snapped open. “Excuse me?”

“You heard.”

“Why the Hell do you want my mask off?”

“I dunno.” She shrugged. “To make a point, I guess. You’ve been trying so hard to hide Branch from me all this time. So-...so now-...”

Her knuckles slid up his cheek, thumb stroking wistfully against the corner of his eye. “So now, I just really wanna see him.”

Right as she said it, he saw a flash of black, like ink blots edging his line of vision. Chatte sucked in a sharp gasp. She tore back her hand, struck with shock.

“The Hell was that?!”

“Your mask!” She squeaked, hopping where she stood, pointing with her right hand and pressing the left to her bottom lip.

“What about my mask?”

“It’s-...the corner of it-...it-it-it just-....”

An odd sensation stirred on his face, something spreading over an inch of bare skin. Strangely enough, it was a spot that shouldn’t be bare.

Chatte’s eyes widened in awe. “It fixed itself...”

“What did?”

“Yo,” She leaned back in eagerly. “Can I try something?”

“Uhh....sure? Wait, what are you gonna do?”

“Just don’t freak out, okay? Now, shut your peepers.”

Bug did so.

“You gonna slap me again?”

“Hush.”

He hushed.

And for a moment, there was nothing. No words, no touch, just two sets of lungs working in sync. Bug cracked an eye open, curious.

Chatte’s trembling hand was hesitating, just an inch from brushing his mask. She frowned as she saw him peeking, blushing as she mouthed “close ‘em.”

As he did, the pad of her forefinger pressed against his concealed temple and he felt the tiniest singe of disturbance.

“So, it does work.” He heard an amazed smile in her whisper.

She traced the line of his brow and while her touch was warm, the trail she left was strangely cooler than before. Then came her whole hand, wiping itself from one side of his mask to the other.

And as her touch fell away to rest on his shoulder, Bug felt a strange lightness, more sensitive to the evening breeze hitting his face.

A part of him knew what was coming but he was no less astounded as he reached up to stroke his naked cheekbones.

“It’s gone.”

“It’s gone.” Chatte echoed.

His stomach swooped uncomfortably. This was weird. In the same way being half-dressed in public was weird, having no mask while still on duty gave him such an off feeling.

“Goddammit.” He grumbled. “I wish Tikki would just tell me everything she knows about these stupid suits already.”

She laughed. “Your eyes are nice.”

“Well, yeah, they were.” Branch scoffed. “But you went and abracadabra-ed the mask off, now all the shiny, miraculous filters are gone.”

“That’s what I like about ‘em. They’re not Ladybug’s eyes right now.”

“Exactly.” He stretched at the purpled bags below his bottom eyelid. "They’re dull.”

“Yep!”

Oh. Well. Ouch.

“Sometimes it’s nice to see you not so magical-lookin’, y’know?” Chatte continued. “You look like...like a real person now. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love me some Ladybug!”

Branch rolled his eyes.

“But I guess in some cases, a little bit of ordinary feels more magical than anything.”

.....Shit.

Honestly? Sometimes, he hated Chatte Noir’s whimsical, little one-liners. This one in particular, which had him stupidly warm and disoriented.

It wasn’t often that Branch, as a tired school kid with a surly attitude, was described as something magical. Never at all, actually.

“You know,” He looked off to the side, fighting down a (stupid) giddy grin. “Somehow, that line manages to reek of Poppy.”

Once confidant in his facial composure, he turned back to her. “Yet I always imagined Poppy would be more for magic than ordinary.”

She fiddled with her folded hands, giving a bouncy shrug. “So did Poppy! But I guess we’re always discovering new stuff about ourselves, aren’t we?”

A pause.

“Speaking of Poppy....”

Chatte adjusted herself, scrunching her eyes shut and raising her chin expectantly.

Branch waited.

“You gonna do it or what?”

Was he-....was he supposed to kiss her or....?

Her eyes popped open. Noting his confusion, she smiled patiently, clickety-clacking her claws against the material that streaked her face. “The mask?”

“....Oh. Oh, yeah.”

Branch shuffled closer, studying the details of her facial structure for what may have been the millionth time. Peachy cheeks, a moon-shaped jawline, pink lips drawn thin in an almost comically “serious business” way.

He lifted a hand.

Only to let it hover tentatively.

The idea of touching any feature of hers felt unnatural. At least, while he was barefaced. For years now, Ladybug could easily brush fingertips against Chatte Noir’s skin and she would light up with delight. But Branch? He abided by restrictions.

Not anymore obviously. Although, he had to wonder how long it would take until he was at ease with this whole thing. When Branch and Bug became interchangeable in his own mind.

He touched her mask. Well, his hand was so hesitant, it just passed the legal requirements of a touch. He didn’t know what he was afraid of. From personal experience (not five minutes ago), this didn’t hurt. But Branch was notoriously cautious after all.

Swallowing his hesitation, he added pressure and tried not to panic as a glow of white light seeped from his fingertips. What looked to be miniscule pinkish bugs swarmed within the luster.

The same healing light that swept across the city after summoning a Lucky Charm.

“Okay, uh. Don’t move.” said Branch.

She did her best, though still couldn’t help but vibrate in anticipation. But that didn’t surprise him. The day Chatte Noir remained perfectly still, was the day Chatte Noir died.

Alright, make it quick. Like ripping off a bandaid.

His hand worked like a wand, manifesting light washing over leather, which disintegrated into nothingness as if it were dust. Or some kind of mirage.

Maybe it was.

“Done.” He muttered, just about to draw his prints away.

But then she opened her eyes and they sufficed as headlights, freezing his touch to the bump of her cheekbone.

Surely, when you rip off a bandaid, your fingers don’t linger afterwards.

Because it hit him. Right at that moment. Chatte’s sickly sweet yapping about magic. About ordinary. And about the divide inbetween. He understood what she meant.

Poppy stood encapsulated by his own stare and gentle hand which melted her features in quiet confusion.

It was amazing how much a mask could change.

Her eyes were soft. Bright in their own way but the common colour of a thousand eyes. Utterly devoid of miraculous inflection but somehow, they lit up with a far more infectious resolve.

Less deity-like than a gaze of fire and brimstone. Just a girl with no powers to speak of but an overwhelming burst of positivity and the determination to find any pocket of happiness that Paris could offer her.

Never before seen on Chatte Noir’s electrifying expression was a humble littering of cinnamon freckles, which faded into the patches of pink on her cheeks.

And the hair. Fucking Hell, the hair. Even through his shock of it all, Branch could feel his lip corners twitch in amusement.

What was once a superhero’s styled mane of uncontrollable badassary was now a dorky bedhead on a very lost looking Poppy. It was funny how the hair could make Chatte appear wilder, tougher. Yet, now it framed the girl before him in an almost vulnerable light.

Almost. There was no doubt in his mind that the frazzled looking little lady could still kick a man’s ass with her eyes closed.

Maybe it was her sweet, civilian face clashing so sharply with his Ladybug life. He knew Chatte and Poppy shared a person. But knowing was different than seeing.

This was startling, exciting, an in-your-face slicing crossroads between the two. Mixing the concept of contrast and similarity was something he couldn’t wrap his head around.

But by God, it was unraveling before him and it woke him up, stimulated at the speed of light and shook every bone to the core.

In simple terms, she was dull. But extraordinarily so.

“What are you thinking about?”

Branch was reeled back to the Right Now by the sound of her voice. Once his eyes adjusted and processed, he noticed she was beaming. He had to wonder if she was thinking something similar.

“Not gonna lie, I was thinking your hair looks pretty weird without the mask.”

She shrugged. “Looks pretty weird with the mask too.”

“Point.”

He then became distractingly aware of his own hand. It was still cupped against the side of her face. Everything itched all at once.

Clearing his throat, his brain launched into a rapid-fire calculation of how to smoothly recover it without drawing attention. He made the wrong move, attempting to gradually lower his fingers down her cheek so they can fall free but Poppy reacted instantly.

Well. Failed step one.

Her palm snapped over his backhand, grasping stubbornly and fixing him with a mild scowl that so perfectly enunciated the words “Where the fuck does your hand think its going?”

.....Guess it’s not going anywhere.

“It’s happening again,” She noted, eyes darting pointedly to the sudden surge that ignited where they made contact.

It was moment of blinking in colours. The magic that bloomed was ying and yang, spreading past scarlet and coal suits and spotlighting skin of brown and peach.

But the final colours came a moment later.

Branch watched cataclysm bubble down the length of his arm, patterned spots dissolving in its wake, just to fizzle away an inch above his elbow.

“Yeah, Tikki is gonna get an earful later.” He commented as he examined the newly exposed area, patting absentmindedly at bits of arm hair that plucked up with surprise.

“I keep telling her I want to know everything there is to know about these suits. But I swear, she only tells me little pieces. I mean, if I’m gonna be Ladybug I at least want to know about-”

A giggle.

Branch glanced up. “What?”

Poppy looked suspiciously smug. She leaned into their still overlapping hands, gesturing with her eyes for him to see for himself.

His gaze fell on their touch and with a quick stutter of his heartbeat, he spotted the flash of colour tied around their wrists.

Green and purple.

“Oh my God!” He tore away, immediately diving head-first into dramatics as Poppy promptly burst into raucous laughter.

“I can’t believe this stupid suit did me so dirty!”

Her frenzied cackles filled the air.

“Shut up!”

She laughed harder.

Branch plucked irritably against his bracelet, not to rip it off, but as a silent way of saying “This is your fault!”

However, even with his yelling and tightened eyebrows, there was a grin trying desperately to split itself across his face.

“I dunno why you’re so happy about this. It’s not like you’re allowed to mention it ever again.”

“Excuse me?!” Poppy was incredulous.

“Uh. Nonono,” She set one hand on her hip, using the other to wag an argumentative finger at him. “I have been waiting to see that bracelet for a year now. If you really think that I-”

“Uh. Nonono,” said Branch, mimicking her finger wag. He grinned broadly. “Night Patrol. You know the rules.”

“Ah!” She exclaimed, jaw dropped and scandalized. “That is unbelievable!”

He nodded, exaggerating his face in mock sympathy. “But we gotta do it.” He wheedled, leaning into her teasingly.

Poppy shoved him away by the nose, a pout in place. She harrumphed. “I’ve decided it’s a stupid rule.”

“A stupid rule we live by.”

“So-so-....so what?! Nothing tonight goes on record?”

“Do you really need briefing on this rule? Dammit, Poppy, you’ve been here long enough.”

“I could kiss you,” She chirped.

Branch raised his eyebrows.

“-And it’d be a consequence-free kiss. Y’know, so we don’t over-complicate things.”

And after everything, mental breakdown, yelling and getting yelled at, talking, listening, reflecting, hugging, touching, learning and finally seeing, Branch didn’t have much of a response to that. He could laugh.

This was as weird as it could get. What else could this night possibly throw at him?

“Poppy. We have already over-complicated things to Hell and back. I don’t think a kiss can make it any worse.”

A pause.

“Is-....” She began uncertainly. “Is that a Yes?”

You know what?

“Ehhhhhh,” Crossing his arms, Branch drooped in close to her side, resting the weight of his shoulder on her and staring off thoughtfully into the distance.

He turned to look at her with a smile too sweet to be real. “Nope,” He said with a pop of his lips and strolled away.

“What?! C’mon!” Poppy cried impatiently, having already cottoned on that this was a game. She just had to figure out what kind.

And so perfectly tapped into this thought process, she marched at his heels, knowing damn well he wanted to be followed.

“Is this ‘cause you’re bitter that I finally won the bracelet game?”

“No comment.”

Branch kept his eyes locked dead ahead, refusing to look at her as she buzzed around him, trying to meet his gaze.

“Be real with me, Branchy boy,” Poppy sing-songed as she lightly poke-poke-poked at his person.

He wriggled where he stood, biting down his smile. “I am being perfectly real.”

“The trophy for winning the bracelet game is kissing the loser.”

“When did we decide that?” Branch almost let a chuckle loose.

“Two minutes ago.”

He scoffed.

“Plus, there’s a million other things I deserve a reward for,”

“Really, now?”

“Yeah huh!” Poppy nodded, grinning from ear-to-ear.

She bounced into explanation. “First of all! I have saved your life on a regular basis and don’t you even try to say that’s not true. I recall one Pigeon Man incident in which our hero, the Miraculous Ladybug, was too paralyzed with fear to even-”

Branch kissed her. He swiftly swooped in, tipped up her chin and kissed her mid-sentence. In what was probably his pettiest moment, to date.

He could easily admit he was competitive but he would object to being called a sore loser. However, he may want to rethink that side of himself a little.

Not that he would say it aloud but in all honestly, what a sore loser act it was to steal a winner’s prize right out from under her nose.

.....Literally.

Though luckily for him and the future of his partnership with this girl, the winner wasn’t nearly as bitter as he was. Quite the opposite.

Poppy happily shared her prize with an eager embrace, her smile he felt playing against his own mouth.

The seconds that played out intricately wrote themselves out into his memory, metaphorical pen in a whir to keep up it with it all.

He would remember this. It was something fierce strong. A close-your-eyes-in-bed-tonight-and-you’ll-still-feel-her-lips kind of strong.

When Branch thought back to the night after the reveal, atop one of many city rooftops, he described it as therapeutic. From a visual perspective.

Coming to terms with who they were was easier when he had particular images flashing before his eyes. Images where two identities fused into one.

The kiss escalated to traveling touches which in turn led to branding handprints until eventually, Ladybug and Chatte Noir were only held together in fragments.

A canvas of spotted red against the splotch of his exposed pajama shorts where Poppy’s hand hooked his hip. The white laced strap of a lilac nightdress as he crept down her neck and deteriorated the black layer that painted her shoulder.

Bits and pieces, that's what they were.

Heroes.

Civilians.

Kids.

Kids who were just doing their damn best to live in the moment as whatever mixed up, criss-crossed individuals they had become. Young hearts were pouring out in their bare hands as they stood beneath an inky night sky, where trillions of glittering, silver superheroes illuminated Paris.


End file.
